Heart of Winter
by Rosalind Sparrow
Summary: Sole survivor of the mysterious fire that destroyed Godric's Hollow, young Harry Potter is taken in by Lord and Lady Stark and raised with their own children. The last heir to a strange and seemingly doomed House, he is determined to uncover the truth behind his parents' deaths, however ominous, despite numerous warnings that some things are better left unknown.
1. Prelude

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I've been wanting to read a good HP/GoT fanfic in a while now, but this crossover pairing is really just starting to be more popular recently, and there isn't much yet. Eventually, I got tired of waiting and decided to write one myself. I base this both on the books and the tv series, and even though, of course, many things will be different, I always do my best to stay loyal to the canon as much as I can, apart from minor details that I change for my own enjoyment. I did keep the ages of the characters from the show, because they are a bit older than in the books, and I thought it would be easier for me to write them this way.

Also, I did not just want to write a fic where Harry finds himself in the GoT universe by whatever means, ends up with the Starks and changes the whole story by his mere presence. I wanted this to be more than that. I will try to mix the two worlds in a believable way and include elements from both in entwining storylines. Of course, Harry's presence is going to change some things in the GoT universe, but he will have his own storyline, his own background, and his own mission to accomplish along with the story we know.

I rated this M because it's GoT, so it has violence and mature subject matter. I should have been clearer here earlier, which is why I am rephrasing this bit: There will be mentions of slash. It will be Jon/Harry in the beginning only, but the main (or final) pairing will however not be slash, if there is a final pairing. I am not sure yet who Harry will end up with, although I am inclined towards Sansa or Daenerys. The slash will be very light, as in not explicit at all, and in fact, calling it slash might even be a strong word, because it is a one-sided thing, as in one boy being in love with another but not doing anything about it. So here it is, I hope it is clearer now. The story will not be Jon/Harry, otherwise I would have set it as the main pairing. The only reason I mentioned it is because if I hadn't, some people would have complained about it come the actual part in the story. I'm not going to say one more word about it. If you want to read on, help yourself. If not, it's your decision. The slash in this story will definitely not be more pronounced than what you saw while watching GoT.

This chapter is a little short, I know, but I thought a short Prelude would put things in perspective first. The next chapter will be much longer. So, there you go. Sorry for the long note. I hope you will like the story, and don't be afraid to review and let me know what you think!

**SUMMARY: **Sole survivor of the mysterious fire that destroyed Godric's Hollow, young Harry Potter is taken in by Lord and Lady Stark and raised with their own children. The last heir to a strange and seemingly doomed House, Harry is determined to uncover the truth behind his parents' deaths, however ominous, despite numerous warnings that some things are better left unknown. Could the dark secrets of the Potters help him win the game of thrones?

* * *

**HEART OF WINTER**

* * *

_"Like an iceberg in the ocean, we have hidden strengths below,_

_That are formed in life's cold waters from our tears of melting snow._

_So the heart that beats within you, as it pulses, like a star_

_Must not forget those winters... for they made you what you are."_

- Rod Walford, _Heart of Winter_

* * *

**PRELUDE**

* * *

_In the far North of Westeros, farther even than the old walls of Winterfell, miles into the Wolfswood, on the northern bank of Long Lake, once stood the castle of Godric's Hollow, ancestral seat of House Potter. Its walls and high towers had been built centuries before from the pale grey stones of the great mountains to the west, and although Godric's Hollow was not the oldest, the biggest, nor the highest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, or even in the North, its beauty was undeniable - its construction an assemblage of harmonious angles and symmetry, its towers and turrets tall and lean with perfect curves of polished stone. In the summer, its proud shape reflected in the lake, still like a mirror, and trees surrounded it so closely that they almost seemed part of the architecture itself. When the branches bent under heavy snows and the lake froze over, Godric's Hollow took an air of peaceful majesty, of sleepiness, as if suspended in time. The black banners with the white phoenix of House Potter floated from its towers all year long, and hung proudly on its walls during the warmer season. But the cold, northern beauty of Godric's Hollow gave no indication to the tragic fate of the House that inhabited it._

_ House Potter was one of the oldest families in the realm. Legend said that long ago, in the Age of Heroes, they had been sorcerers, powerful warriors with magic coursing through their veins. The first Potter, a certain Godric, the same one who had built the beautiful castle of Godric's Hollow, was said to have been an ally of Bran the Builder, although not an ordinary man, but one born from the union of a First Man and one of the Children of the Forest. Old tales told of how Godric Potter had helped build the Wall with spells and sorcery, of how he had taught witchcraft to the people of the North and performed unspeakable acts in the name of strange gods and mystical forces, spraying the blood of innocents on the frozen northern lands. And this magic had been passed down through his bloodline, legend said. The Potters were seemingly almost impossible to kill, and lived to be very old, which had earned them their sigil, the phoenix._

_ But those were nothing but legends, and Westeros is rich in legends, some of them a thousand times more violent and outrageous than the story of Godric Potter and his unholy powers. Yet, it was still firmly believed among the people of the realm that the Potters were descendants from ancient sorcerers, and that some members of the family possessed great powers, if only one every few generations. But the Potters would only smile when you mentioned this at their table and pour you another cup, for House Potter was one of modesty and integrity, the values of the North. If they did have otherwordly powers, they never used them in obvious ways, and they never sought to rule any kingdom, remaining faithful bannermen to the Starks, to whom they had been sworn for centuries. They usually wed other northerners, mostly among the Starks, the Umbers, and the Blacks, and often greeted the Black Brothers of the Night's Watch on their journeys to and from the Wall with grace, hospitality, a good bed, and a warm meal. Although one Potter had once acted as Hand to a king some centuries before, they mostly kept away from the matters of the court, but would take arms if necessary to defend the North._

_ Like too many stories of sorrow in Westeros, the downfall of House Potter started with a king. It started on the day King Aerys sent a messenger to Godric's Hollow, summoning Lord Harold Potter, his wife Eleanor, their eldest son Charlus, and their only daughter Kimbra to the royal court. The message, bearing the unmistakable Targaryen seal, informed Lord Potter that the King wished to promptly discuss the possibility of wedding his eldest son, Prince Rhaegar, to the beautiful Potter girl._

_ Lord Potter was dubious. King Aerys rarely paid any attention to what happened in the North. He had, until then, seemed content to surround himself with southerners the like of the Lannisters, to which none of the northerners particularly objected. But the Potters had gained unwanted fame of late, or more precisely, Kimbra had gained attention when two of the Blackwood brothers had suddenly become rivals and resorted to fight to the death in an attempt to obtain her favour._

_ At sixteen, although she had hardly ever left the North but to attend a few tourneys in the Riverlands, young Kimbra's beauty was already well-known in the Seven Kingdoms. She had the slight, slender built and ebony hair of the Potters, and the large, dark eyes of the Blacks inherited from her mother's side. Lord Potter, who was a noble and honest man, often scolded his daughter, warning her that vanity is an ugly trait, but Kimbra was fresh as a rose, charming and naive. She was full of joy at the idea of becoming Prince Rhaegar's bride. She begged her father to accept the King's invitation, but Harold Potter had no choice. He could not refuse even though he deeply wanted to, even though he was suspicious. Rumours of King Aerys' descent into madness had reached even the far halls of Godric's Hollow and Lord Harold was not eager to fall in the King's bad graces. The offer of a king is not something one can refuse. One can only accept and be grateful for the honour. And if it meant that his daughter might one day be queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he would take a leap of faith for her sake._

_ And so the Potters travelled south to King's Landing, unaware of the fate that awaited them there, because unknown to most people outside court, King Aerys was already negotiating to wed his son to Elia Martell of Dorne, and he had no intention of making Kimbra Potter the queen of anything. For he had heard about House Potter too, and about their history. He had heard the legends and read the lore of Godric Potter and his strange accomplishments. And for some reason, King Aerys had it in his mind that young Kimbra Potter was a sorceress who entranced young men with her beauty, forcing them into madness and bloodshed to satisfy her nameless, demonic gods. The King had no intention of letting her approach his son lest he suffer the same fate than the two Blackwood boys, and almost as soon as Kimbra Potter set foot inside the Red Keep of King's Landing, he collected her pretty head to adorn the walls of his great castle. When her family protested, he locked them in a dungeon cell and showered them with wildfire until there was nothing left. Death by fire, they say, is the purest. Perhaps, in his insanity, Aerys Targaryen thought it a kindness._

_ But the Potter line was not yet destroyed, and King Aerys sometimes, though very rarely, liked to think of himself as merciful. He allowed Lord Harold's last living heir, his youngest son, to live, albeit stripped of his titles. James Potter, then only ten years old, remained safely fostered in Winterfell. Lord Rickard Stark, whose own mother had been a Potter, was full of anger. He raised the boy as his own son, waiting for the day when his people would take their revenge. Because the North always remembers._

_ The story of what had happened to the Potters spread quickly through the continent and terrorized the smallfolk and the noble Houses alike. It all went downhill from there, as King Aerys' madness only increased. The following events, of course, are well-known. Prince Rhaegar wed Elia Martell, and some years later, abducted Lyanna Stark, which pushed the Starks to confront the Mad King, leading to Lord Rickard's death, and that of his eldest son, Brandon. It was the last straw. The North rallied their forces, other kingdoms joined them, and thus was born the rebellion that would eventually lead to King Aerys' death and to Robert Baratheon taking the Iron Throne._

_ When the war was over, the new king summoned James Potter to court. Now in his twenties, he had fought bravely against the Targaryen forces to avenge his family. King Robert restored all his titles and had him knighted as repayment for his courage and his family's sufferings. Ser James thanked him, wed a southern lady that he had met in the Vale during the war, and promptly returned home, wanting nothing more than to raise his family in peace and quiet and to forget the terrible fate of his loved ones._

_ Never since was James Potter seen south of the Neck again. He remained faithful to the Starks, but refused to take part in any activity that might shatter his already fragile line. The other Houses knew, understood, and left him alone until time would eventually heal his wounds. Once again, the black and white banners could be seen hanging from the walls of Godric's Hollow in the long summer, and when Ser James' first son was born, when he looked into the green eyes of little Harry, he finally understood the meaning of House Potter's words: _Rising Again_. The gods had given him a little phoenix, and for the first time in years, he felt hope._

_ But the story of House Potter was far from over. Their downfall had started with fire, and it is also how it ends._

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. The Phoenix

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I made a slight mistake in the Prelude. I said that James Potter met his wife in the Riverlands, but Lily is actually from the Vale. I corrected the mistake, but I wanted to mention it here too. That said, thank you for taking the time to read the Prelude. I know it was short, but it was just that, a prelude. I will go into more details in the actual chapters, and there will be much more backstory about the Potters, and everything else.

I said this chapter would be posted a few days after the Prelude, and it took longer than expected. Sorry about that. I started making my plan as I was writing it and I kept adding stuff, which caused the delay. I now have everything planned for up to ten-ish chapters, which is very exciting. For the rest of it, I have a vague idea where I am going, but it's all coming together very nicely.

With the exception of this chapter, everything else will be seen from Harry's point of view. I think if you've seen the show or read the books you know very well what the other characters think about the events, so I figured there is no need to repeat what is already known. However, there will be little interludes here and there in the story, allowing you to glimpse certain events from other characters' points of view when necessary, or allowing me to include a flashback or extra information.

Finally, the few verses of the Potter song included at the end of the chapter were based on the poem "The Phoenix again" by May Sarton, although I changed some of it.

I hope you will like this chapter, and don't hesitate to review and let me know what you think.

* * *

**HEART OF WINTER**

**THE PHOENIX**

* * *

Lord Eddard Stark received the sombre news on the cold, cloudy morning of what would otherwise have been just another day in Winterfell.

It started with the Starks breaking fast in the long and airy Great Hall of the Keep. The bright, happy voice of his son Robb echoed in the vast and mostly deserted room as the boy recited for his parents what he had been learning from Maester Luwin for the past three days. The old maester was teaching the Stark heir about the noble Houses of Westeros, and every time Robb heard one of them mentioned in conversation, he took it upon himself to remind everyone present of the history of that particular family. Jon had been allowed to attend the lessons too, but years of dark glances from Lady Catelyn across the table had taught him to keep his mouth shut during meals. Little three-year-old Sansa sat next to her mother, ignoring them as she gracefully picked at the contents of her plate, muttering softly to a little wooden doll on her lap.

It was upon this scene that Maester Luwin stumbled, apologetic.

"Pardon me for disturbing your meal, my lord, my lady," he said with a distraught look on his face. "But I am afraid a matter of great importance has arisen."

Robb fell silent and ate sulkily, slightly annoyed at having been interrupted. Jon raised his head to stare at the scene with his dark, ever watchful eyes, looking quite solemn for a seven-year-old boy.

"What is it, Maester?" Ned Stark asked, frowning as he put down his knife.

The maester withdrew a parchment from the sleeves of his woollen robes and handed it to Ned with a pale, wrinkled hand. "A raven has come in the night," he explained.

Ned took the message and unfolded it, immediately recognizing the red seal of House Umber. He was aware of his wife's eyes on his face as he read. She saw his expression change from curious to troubled in a matter of seconds, and his fingers trembled when he set the parchment down on the table.

"Ned?" Catelyn asked, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.

"Dark wings, dark words," Ned muttered, as his father used to say. He stared in silence as the message folded back on itself slowly, following the crease of the parchment. "A message from Lord Jon Umber," he announced.

"House Umber!" Robb exclaimed from his place on his father's left. "Seat, the Last Hearth," he recited. "Sigil, a roaring giant. Words..."

"Not now, Robb," his mother said gently.

Ned was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath and spoke. "Greatjon writes that he went hunting in the Wolfswood on his son's nameday. Some of his men chased game all the way to Long Lake, and there, they found Godric's Hollow in ruins. Some walls are completely fallen, and the whole eastern wing destroyed it. It seems it was ravaged by fire." He fell silent, staring back at the message. The red string that had held it closed fluttered softly in a draft of air that coursed through the large room.

"Did anyone...?" Catelyn started asking, but she trailed off, surely horrified by the answer.

"They have searched the ground but could find no survivors. The ruins were still smoking," Ned said weakly. He allowed his eyes to sadden for only a moment, before looking up, confused. "This makes no sense. Fire could never burn a wall in Godric's Hollow, let alone destroy a whole wing."

"Indeed, it would not be possible," Maester Luwin said quietly. "Not with natural fire..."

"Natural fire?" Catelyn asked, frowning. "What else could it be?" Ned heard something akin to fear behind her voice.

"Dragonfire?" suggested Robb, who was paying more attention to the conversation now that it concerned the great mystery of some horrifying even that took place north of Winterfell. "Like in Harrenhal?"

"The dragons are all dead," Jon intervened. "Could it be wildfire?"

"I doubt it," Ned said, rubbing his chin as he thought. "Wildfire spreads so rapidly it would surely have destroyed the whole castle, not just the eastern wing."

"That is right," said Maester Luwin wisely, although he seemed at a loss when it came to finding another hypothesis.

"Something queer has happened there. I must go and see for myself," Ned added decidedly, standing up. "Maester Luwin, tell Jory he is to accompany me, and Ser Rodrik as well. We should leave in an hour."

"Yes, my lord," the maester said before leaving the Great Hall.

"Can I come with you, Father?" Robb asked, sitting up eagerly in his chair.

"No, Robb," Catelyn said immediately. "Not this time."

Ned Stark smiled at his son's enthusiasm, but he shook his head. "Your mother is right, Robb. Not this time. It is a long way to Godric's Hollow. We might be gone for a week's time, and we will travel too fast for your pony."

He could see from the look on Jon's face that he was dying to travel north as well. "Can you see the Wall from Godric's Hollow?" he asked quietly, inquisitive.

"No, Jon. It is not quite near enough. Now, I have some things to prepare before I go. Boys, take care of your sisters while I am away," he said, looking gently at Sansa and thinking about one-year-old Arya, still with her wet nurse. He ruffled both his sons' hair and walked out of the hall.

He paused outside, leaning against a wall, pondering the news he had just received. Robb's words echoed in his mind. From what he knew of Greatjon's report of the scene, he would also have been inclined to blame dragonfire, but Jon was right. There were no more dragons. And wildfire would have spread and consumed the whole structure, leaving no ruins behind. But if it wasn't either of those, what kind of fire could have been unleashed on Godric's Hollow? The castle was deep into the Wolfswood. You could hardly glimpse it from the Kingsroad, and travellers were scarce in that region, even in the summer. A dull pain erupted in his chest at the thought that the Potters had burned alive without anyone knowing...

When he looked up, he found that Catelyn had joined him, and she grasped his hands in hers. "I am sorry, my lord," she said softly. "I know Ser James was like a brother to you."

"I did not know him as well as Benjen, but my father raised him as one of us," Ned said. "Ser James was as much a Stark as he was a Potter. I owe it to him to find out what happened in Godric's Hollow. And Benjen should be informed of this, I forgot to..."

"I will tell Maester Luwin to send a raven to the Wall for your brother. I have asked the servants to pack enough food for a week. Will that be enough?"

"More than enough. We will ride fast, and there are inns along the..." Ned started to say but he suddenly looked preoccupied.

"What is it?" she asked.

He put a gentle hand on her bulging stomach, where, he hoped, another healthy son had been growing. "I don't like the thought of leaving you now, when the little one could come any day," he said. "If you ask me to stay, I will."

Catelyn smiled and he saw love in her eyes. "Maester Luwin is here if I have need of him, and I know your son will wait until you return to come into the world. You have to go, Ned. It is like you said, you owe it to James."

"His children..." Ned said, his throat tight with grief. "His eldest son was only a year younger than the boys. The youngest was only two... To die like that at such a young age, having barely known life..."

"Yes, it is terrible," Catelyn said firmly, looking deep into his eyes. "And if someone is responsible for that terrible fate, you will find them, my love, and justice will be done." She gripped his hands tightly to give him courage, and he stared back at her, determined.

"I will," he said. "On that, you have my word."

* * *

The riders left Winterfell before midday under a grey sky thick with clouds. As planned, Ned rode with Jory Cassel and Ser Rodrik, accompanied by three men from the guard that Jory had insisted they bring along in case they came upon some trouble on the road. If Catelyn had not been with child, Ned would have asked Maester Luwin to accompany them. His knowledge and wisdom would surely have been useful to determined the nature of what had occurred in Godric's Hollow, but Ned would not risk it. He would do his best to solve the mystery with the help of the men available to him. Catelyn needed the maester more than he did.

The walls of Winterfell formed a barrier against the northern wind, but outside, on the vast lands surrounding the Kingsroad, a cold breeze blew. It would only get colder as they headed towards Godric's Hollow, and the men wore their best furs for the trip. They could only afford to stop at night, covering the most ground possible by day. Ned wanted to return home as soon as he could, dreading to miss the birth of his child. But they were accustomed to the cold. They were northmen, and they had known worse. This was but summer chill compared to the raw, merciless, biting cold of winter.

"I am amazed that neither of the boys managed to haggle their way into this trip," Ser Rodrik said as they trotted away to warm up the horses, his white whiskers whipping around his chin with the movements of his mount.

"Oh, Robb tried to," Ned said with a smile. "Jon would not dare ask, but I know he was dying to come as well."

"They are both great lads, and they will be great men one day, my lord," remarked Ser Rodrik, who taught them swordsmanship almost every day of the week. "Jon is fast, and already strong for his age. Robb is more playful. He doesn't seem to take swordplay as seriously, but he will grow into it. He is only seven. So is Jon, but they say bastards grow faster than other boys."

"That is what they say," Ned said shortly. He disliked speaking of Jon's birth and there was a cold edge to his voice. Ser Rodrik must have noticed because he said no more about it and they rode in silence from then on. Ned tried to push his sons out of his mind for the time being. Thinking about his children when he travelled only made him regret leaving. So instead, Ned found himself thinking about James Potter.

Having spent most of his childhood fostered by Lord Arryn with Robert Baratheon at the Eyrie, Ned had not known his own father's wards very well. There had been James Potter, but also Sirius Black, Lord Orion Black's eldest son. Like the Potters, the Blacks kept mostly to themselves, not because they meant to, but because their seat, Grimmauld Hall, was built in such unfriendly regions that hardly anyone, themselves included, was willing to cross the bogs and the swampy forest west of the Neck that separated them from the rest of the world. They wed close cousins and sometimes siblings in traditions similar to those of the Targaryens, giving little importance to what the rest of the realm thought of this practice. But old Lord Black was so unpleasant that no one really complained about Grimmauld Hall's distant location. Sirius Black was almost a stranger to Ned, but he had met James Potter during the Rebellion.

Ned remembered a black-haired youth not much younger than himself, not very tall, but lean and strong, with dark eyes shining with wit and rage. James had loved Rickard Stark like a father, and saw in the Stark children - especially Benjen and Lyanna, with whom he had grown up - the siblings that had been taken from him so young. Losing the Starks had been like losing his family a second time, and to avenge them, he had fought proudly by Ned's side, under the direwolf banners, when the rallied forces had marched south against the Targaryens.

James had fought with all he had, with the daring recklessness of one who had nothing left to lose. They barely knew each other, and yet, when the fight was almost over, James had followed Ned south all the way to the Red Mountains of Dorne, to free their sister from the tower where Rhaegar Targaryen had been keeping her prisoner. There had been eight men in their party, but only three came out of the fight alive when they faced the three knights of the Kingsguard who kept the tower, and surprisingly, James Potter was one of them. He had seen Lyanna in her final moments, witnessed Ned's grief, and given his word that he would never speak of what he had witnessed there.

Ned suspected that perhaps James had not really expected to survive the war at all. Perhaps he hadn't really wanted to. But when it was all over, he was still standing. And Robert made him a Potter again, gave him back his home, and even put a "Ser" before his name. He seemed at a loss afterwards, unsure what to do with this new, unexpected life he had been given.

The last time Ned saw him, he was sitting casually on the front steps of the Red Keep's entrance while everyone inside celebrated the end of the war. There was a blank, tired look on his face. Ned knew that look too well. It was dawning on him that revenge is vain after all, that the death and suffering of those who have wronged us does nothing to ease the pain, to fill the hole left by what was lost. Ned had felt the same way - bitter, empty, enraged by what terrible things had been done to win the Iron Throne, and still plagued by the loss of his family. James, Ned, and Robert all felt this way. It was a bittersweet victory. Jaime Lannister had killed the Mad King, a task they had all wanted for themselves. Unfortunately, Aerys Targaryen could only die once.

Ned had approached James, there on the steps, and the newly knighted young man looked up at him with an uncertain smile.

"I don't quite know what I should be doing now," he had confided in Ned with a shrug before standing slowly, heavily, as if he were still wearing his full battle armour instead of the silk and painted leathers of the end of the war.

"You will always be welcomed in Winterfell," Ned had replied. "It will always be your home, no matter what comes."

"Yes, I know," James had said, and they had embraced like brothers for a long time, without speaking a word.

But James had never taken up on his offer. He had left King's Landing the next day and rode for the Vale, where he had met a lovely maiden during the war. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Alderic Evans of Thornfort. When James found himself highborn once again, he rode to Thornfort and, with his titles restored and a castle of his own, asked Lord Alderic for his daughter's hand. Ned remembered her. It was hard not to. She had been a beauty, with eyes shining green like wildfire. If he remembered correctly, she was a distant cousin of Catelyn from her mother's side. She had the bright red hair of the Tullys. They eventually wed and James brought her north to Godric's Hollow.

Since then, Ned had received ravens announcing the birth of the Potters' children, as it was customary for noble Houses to inform their Lord of the arrival of any new trueborn offspring, and Benjen brought news every time he visited Winterfell and stopped in Godric's Hollow along the way. But neither James nor his wife had strayed very far from their home in the seven years since the war had ended. They certainly had visitors, though. Ned had heard word from many inns and holdfasts near Winterfell that strange folks often stopped by for the night on their way to Godric's Hollow. Most of them spoke foreign languages that the people of the North had never even heard of, wore their hair dyed in bright colours, and looked pitiful as they shivered in their silk clothing. Whatever business James Potter would have with these people, Ned could not even conceive.

* * *

At the end of their first day of riding, Ned's party stopped at an inn less than two days away from Godric's Hollow. They had travelled well and if they kept the pace on the morrow, he told himself, they would reach their destination in time. The innkeeper was honoured to host the Lord of Winterfell and his men in his humble establishment and insisted they have his best rooms free of charge, but Ned would have none of it and paid the man despite his protests. Before retiring to their rooms for a well-deserved rest, they headed into the inn's dining hall for a warm meal and were surprised to find there one of Greatjon Umber's men, who introduced himself as Colton.

"I'm heading south to King's Landing," he explained as Ned and his men joined him at his table. "Lord Greatjon is sending me to the King with news of the Potters' deaths. I'd much rather he'd sent a raven, but he wants me there in case the King starts asking questions." Colton was tall and muscular, with long hair and an impressive beard, but his voice revealed him as much younger than he looked. He was soft-spoken and the eyes under his thick, bushy eyebrows were bright blue.

"Were you with the hunting party that discovered the ruins?" Ned asked, curious. "We are heading to Godric's Hollow ourselves."

Immediately, he sensed a twitch in Colton's demeanour. "Oh, you don't want to to that, my lord," he said, looking relatively calm but with a tremor in his voice. "I would stay far away from that place if I were you. I've never seen anything like it before in my life."

The men exchanged glances. Apart from the seven of them and the innkeeper behind the bar, the hall was empty. The only sound was the whistling of the wind outside and the crackling of the fire in the large hearth.

"What have you seen there?" Ned asked. "Why should we avoid it?"

"Didn't Greatjon tell you none of it, my lord?" Colton replied, curling his large hands around his cup of mulled wine, as if searching for comfort.

"All I know is that there was a fire and that some of the walls have fallen."

Colton snorted and shook his head. "Fallen? Those walls weren't fallen, my lord. They looked like they'd been ripped right from the ground all the way to the foundations. Like a giant's hand plucking a tree with the roots still attached. The stone was scorched black, and around where the eastern wing was, it had turned soft. I remember seeing children building sandcastles on the beach once, when I travelled south along the coast, and that's what the stone was like. Lord Umber touched it and it crumbled under his fingers like dust before drifting off into the wind..."

Colton might have seemed reticent to talk at first, but now that he had started his story, he couldn't seem to be able to stop. His eyes stared fixedly into the fire as he spoke. It might have been the silence in the room, or the howling of the wind outside, or maybe Colton was an excellent storyteller, but Ned found himself shivering even as he was safe and warm inside the inn.

"So you see, my lord," Colton continued, "when I say that you shouldn't go there, I mean what I say. It sends shivers down my spine just to think about it. Something dark has happened there, if you ask me. You feel it as soon as you set foot on the castle grounds. I don't know what it is, but it creeps inside your chest and it hides there. I've had those strange dreams ever since I was there. I dream of a man who comes in the night, dressed all in black and without a face. He stands over my bed in silence, staring at me while I sleep. I yell at him to go, to get out and leave me be, and when I finally awake, I am drenched in sweat but frozen to my bones."

Ser Rodrik, who was a sceptical man, cleared his throat carefully before he spoke. "Fire and death can put fear into the heart of any man, lad," he said kindly. "But there is nothing in dreams that a man needs fear."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Colton said, turning to stare directly at Ser Rodrik. "My brother was there too, and he's been having the same dreams ever since."

* * *

Ned was exhausted after the whole day of riding, but it took him a long time to fall asleep that night. When he finally drifted off, he slept fitfully, in short, confusing bursts of strange dreams. He dreamt that the walls of Winterfell were crumbling like sandcastles as the ghosts of the long-dead Kings of the North escaped from the crypt like billows of smoke. Then he dreamt that a horrendous giant came from beyond the Wall, its footsteps echoing like thunder, and plucked the Heart Tree from the godswood, mocking him in a deep, cavernous tongue as Ned tried to escape its grasp, stumbling away on stiff, heavy legs. The roots of the weirwood were soaked with smelly crimson blood and helpless cries came from beneath the earth as it was ripped from the ground. Then he found himself standing in the quiet Wolfswood, soft snow falling around him, thick and silent like balls of cotton. And Catelyn stood before him between the trees, calmly stroking her belly, but drenched in her own blood. She looked at him with Lyanna's eyes and, in his sister's voice, spoke the last words she had ever said to him. _Promise me, Ned..._

He awoke with a start as someone knocked loudly on the door. They were ready to leave soon, Jory announced, and some food waited for him in the dining hall. For a moment, Ned didn't know where he was, then he remembered. He was on his way to Godric's Hollow. He was on his way to the ruins of James Potter's life. He dragged himself out of bed, feeling as if he'd hardly slept at all, and dressed slowly. By the time he was downstairs and breaking fast with his men, he couldn't remember having dreamt at all. The innkeeper informed them that Colton had left before dawn.

The day was strange. The howling wind from the night before had died, and the air was cold and still, their breaths coming out in little clouds of mist. They didn't notice the fog until it was all they could see. It wrapped itself around them like a blanket. Soon, it was so thick that they couldn't make out the road before them, and they guided themselves by the sounds of the hooves on the hard dirt. It made their horses nervous and did nothing to ease Ned's growing feeling of dread.

"At this pace, we won't reach Godric's Hollow for another week!" Jory complained around midday as they wound their way slowly through the sinuous path that stretched itself narrowly through the Wolfswood.

"Maybe we should go back, my lord," said one of the men from behind Ned, the apprehension evident in his voice.

"No," Ned said firmly. "We have come all this way, we will keep going."

He longed to go back as well, longed for the safety of the inn, or better yet, the familiar warmth of Winterfell. But he had given his word, to Catelyn and to himself, that he would reach Godric's Hollow and find out what had occurred there. The fog was so thick that Ned could have sworn it was almost twilight, but behind all these clouds, the sun was nearing its zenith.

It was shortly after that Ser Rodrik called out to them. "Stop, all of you. Listen."

They stopped and listened. They could hear nothing at first. It was as if the fog impaired their ears as well as their eyes. But surely enough, they could hear, in the near distance, the sound of hooves along with the hurried whining of cart wheels.

"Should we get off the road, my lord?" asked another of the men. "They are coming nearer and we can see nothing ahead."

"Who goes there?" Ned called out. "There are six of us! Slow your pace!"

They all listened, but no voice answered. The sound of hooves and wheels was getting closer and closer and their horses were getting restless.

"Halt! Who goes there?" Ned called again, but there was no answer. "Everyone, get off the road," he said urgently.

They parted, half of them heading right and the three others scurrying to the left. The wooden cart that passed by them so hurriedly had seen better days. One of its wheels was loose on its axle, barely touching the ground, and it continued to spin on itself when the cart stopped suddenly on the road, a few feet past their party. It slightly cleared the fog in its path so they could clearly see when the cloaked man sitting hunched at the front of the cart straightened himself and looked around. Ned could not see his face under the heavy hood of his cloak, but he was aware the moment the man's eyes settled on him.

"What were you yelling about in the fog, Ned Stark?" he asked. His voice was that of an old man, somewhat amused, and apparently not at all conscious of almost having caused great damage to their party.

"Who are you?" Ned asked coldly. He didn't like being confronted with someone who knew much more than they were willing to let on, and he was in no mood to play games.

"My apologies if I have offended you, my lord. I mean you no harm," the old man said more softly, letting go of the horse's reins and jumping off the cart gracefully. "In truth, I was heading to Winterfell to find you."

Ned's hand went to his sword as soon as the man started approaching him, but he did not draw it yet. "And why is that?" he asked.

"I come from Godric's Hollow, my lord," the old man said, and the whole party fell silent, waiting to hear what he had to say. "I have recovered something that I would like to entrust you with for safekeeping."

Ned stared at him, furious. "You have been salvaging the ruins?" he snapped. "You had no right. I will make no business with a thief. Ser Rodrik, seize this man!"

But before Ser Rodrik could dismount and obey, the man removed his hood, revealing his face. He was older than Ned would have thought. He looked years past the reasonable age to be roaming the Kingsroad on a broken cart at full speed. He had a long beard tied under his chin in an intricate braid, and equally long hair, both silver with age. His eyes were sparkling blue with wit and wisdom, and around his neck hung a chain forged with rings of different metals. It was a familiar sight that put the party at ease, although Ned had yet to see one so long.

"There has been a misunderstanding," the old man said kindly. "I am no thief, my lord."

"You are a maester," Ned said, confused. "What are you doing roaming the Wolfswood on your own?"

"It is just like I told you, my lord. I come from Godric's Hollow, where I was maester to the Potters." He looked around him quickly. The fog was closing in on them again, and it seemed to make him nervous. "My lord, please. It is urgent. Come quickly." He headed back to the cart and gestured for Ned to approach.

Intrigued, Ned dismounted, nodding to Ser Rodrik to do the same, and the knight followed him back to the road and towards the old man's cart. Inside, all they saw was a pile of rags and furs in a corner. Ned watched, bewildered, as the maester shook the bundle lightly and pushed aside a fur to reveal the small face of a child. The other men approached curiously for a closer look as the frightened green eyes of the little boy turned to the maester in confusion.

"Fear not, little lord," the old man said gently. "These men mean you no harm." And with surprising strength, the maester grabbed the little boy under his arms, pulled him from the cart, and settled him slowly on the ground for everyone to see.

Ned stared. The boy was dirty with soot, his hair dark as night, and eyes strangely familiar. He was slightly smaller than Robb and Jon, but looked only a year or so younger. His clothes were clean but too large for him, and he trembled on his feet under the glance of the whole party.

"Is this... Is this one of James Potter's sons?" Ned asked, astounded.

"Indeed, the eldest. This is young Harry, Lord of House Potter," the maester said before turning back to the little boy. "Harry, this is Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He was your father's friend. They were as close as brothers once. You will go with him now, little lord."

The boy looked terrorized, and Ned saw one of his small hands grab at the maester's cloak. "But I want to stay with you, Maester Albus," he said in a whisper.

"You cannot, child. I have places to go and people to see. Lord Eddard will keep you safe," the maester said, pushing the dirty hair back from the child's face, and as he did so, Ned saw a jagged scar marring the boy's forehead. The maester turned back to look at Ned. "I am afraid young Harry has not had anything to eat in a while. Perhaps one of your men could give him some food while we talk," he said.

Ned nodded towards Jory who came forward and held out his hand for the little boy to take. "Come, little lord," he said gently. "I have some sweet bread and honey for you."

They watched as the boy took Jory's hand hesitantly and the man led him to the left, where his horse was standing next to the trees, and Ned turned back to the maester. "Surely he has some family left," Ned told him in a low voice. "I cannot take him if his mother's sister..."

The maester grabbed Ned suddenly and pulled him to the side. Ser Rodrik drew his sword, but Ned held up a hand to stop him.

"You must keep him by your side, Lord Stark!" the maester said urgently. "It is of the utmost importance. You must bring him to Winterfell and raise him as your own son, just like your own father once did with James Potter. There is nothing left of House Potter's legacy but this little boy. He has no family. His mother's sister is not worthy of raising him. Godric's Hollow is gone. It has been destroyed. The ground it once stood upon is damned. Nothing will ever grow or live there again."

"What has happened there?" Ned asked. "How did he manage to survive?"

The man finally let go and Ned straightened up, nodding towards Ser Rodrik to let him know that all was well. "The castle burned in the night," the maester said. "That is all you must know. Do not go there. Do not seek to find out what has happened there. Godric's Hollow is no more, and that ends the matter. The boy remembers none of it, but one day, he will grow up and seek the truth, as you do now, and you must convince him never to go searching for it."

"Why?" Ned asked again. "He has a right to know what killed his family. Why should he not go looking for the truth?"

The man looked at him straight in the eyes, and for a long moment, Ned felt as if he were looking directly into his soul. "Because the truth would destroy him. Some things are better left unknown, my lord. Surely you know this, don't you?"

And Ned was hit suddenly with an image of his sister's face, of her fingers soaked with blood as she grabbed his hand. _Promise me, Ned... Tell no one..._

"You must keep him with you," the maester said again. "He needs you. He needs to be raised in the North with his own people. And most of all, you need him. You need him more than you could understand if I were to try to explain it to you. If you should trust but one person in your whole life, Eddard Stark, trust me in this instant, and trust my words above all others. You need this boy by your side."

Ned turned. Ser Rodrik was looking at him blankly, at a loss for words. Farther away, near the horses, Jory was giving bread to the little boy, who bit through it like a hungry wolf pup. When Ned turned towards the maester again, the old man was fumbling through the furs in the cart and unloading a traveller's bag.

"This is all I could save when the castle burned," he said, putting the bag in Ned's arms. "There is not much in there. The clothes the boy is wearing were given to us by the generous innkeeper who sold us this cart."

"That is all?" Ned asked the maester, irritated, handing Ser Rodrik the traveller's bag. "You will not tell me more about it all? I must take the boy and ask no more questions?"

"That is exactly what you must do, my lord," the maester said, walking around to the front of the cart. "You must ride back to Winterfell as soon as possible. The boy is wounded on the shoulder and I could not save any of my remedies from the fire. There is also that scar on his forehead to look after. I am certain your Maester Luwin will take care of it as well as I could." He climbed back on the cart with the grace and ease of a young man. "Farewell, now, Lord Stark. We will meet again. Have a safe return, and remember my words. Keep him by your side."

With that, he grabbed the reins and his horse started galloping again, the cart disappearing quickly into the thick fog. Ned heard a sudden yell and turned around.

"No!" the little boy cried, dropping his bread and running from Jory and onto the road to follow after the cart. "Don't leave me, Maester! Come back! Please!"

His voice broke Ned's heart and he reached out to catch the boy before he could fall and hurt himself. "Hush, little one," he said, holding the boy against him as he started sobbing. "Have no fear. No one will hurt you now. I promise you. No one will hurt you as long as I live," he whispered.

The others stayed silent as they watched him comfort the last Potter heir, unsure what to say or do. Ned closed his eyes and, holding the little boy, thought about what he should do next. Surely it was only because of what the old man had said, but he had the strange feeling that his decision right would determine the course of the rest of his life. He had made a promise to reach Godric's Hollow and discover what had happened there, but the growing dread in his heart and those of his men was becoming impossible to ignore. And there was Catelyn and the child to come. And this little boy who needed care and attention.

He stood decidedly, the child still clinging to him. "The boy is wounded and needs healing. We are going back to Winterfell," he announced. The fog was still thick and cold around them, but the faces of his men looked relieved to hear the news. "Ser Rodrik, I seem to remember that you carry a spare winter cloak with you?" he asked the knight.

"Yes," Ser Rodrik answered. "I will fetch it for the lad."

"Shall I have the little one ride with me, my lord?" Jory asked, leading his horse back onto the road.

The boy's sobs had calmed by then and he was silent now, his cheek pressed against Ned's chest. "No, Jory. I think he will ride with me for now."

* * *

They reached the inn again before nightfall and the innkeeper, surprised to see them back so soon, explained that some men on their way to the Night's Watch were also present tonight, and that perhaps the Lord of Winterfell would prefer to spend the night in another inn. Ned told him that it didn't matter, that the boy travelling with them needed to rest. The innkeeper's wife's heart was softened by the green eyes of the boy and she offered to bring them dinner in their room so that they wouldn't have to eat downstairs with the noisy men. Ned thanked her and led Harry upstairs to tend to his wounds the best he could.

He had wrapped Ser Rodrik's cloak tightly around the boy, but still the garment was so large it made him look years younger. He was quiet as Ned removed it, staring at him now with curiosity rather than fear.

"You are a Stark," he said softly after a while. "You are Benjen's brother."

"I am," Ned said with a smile, pushing back Harry's hair from his forehead to look at the scar. It was shaped oddly, like a bolt of lightning, as if thunder itself had struck him. "Does it hurt?"

"Not so much now," the boy answered with a shrug. "Is it true you can turn into a wolf? Benjen said you could."

Ned laughed. That sounded like something his brother would tell children. "No, little one. I assure you I am but a man."

"Oh," the boy said, sounding almost disappointed. "We are going to Winterfell?"

"Yes, we are," Ned said, raising the boy's arms to remove his shirt so he could examine his wound.

"Are you going to send me away?" Harry asked again.

Ned paused. "No," he said simply. He knew he should reassure the boy, tell him that he would be safe in Winterfell and that Ned would never send him away, but he was looking at the boy's shoulder, confused.

"Your maester said your shoulder was injured in the fire," he said.

"It was."

"That was two... three days ago?"

"Four."

Ned looked at the wound, touched it lightly. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Can I put my shirt back on now. It's cold," the boy complained.

Ned nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, thinking.

Godric's Hollow had burned four days ago. Half the castle was destroyed, its walls crumbling and scorched, and yet this child had escaped alive with nothing but a scar and a burn. The skin on his shoulder was rough and pink, but dry and completely healed.

On the bed was the bag the maester had given him. Ned opened it to look inside. The first thing he saw was a large piece of black cloth. He pulled on it slightly to examine it. It was one of the banners of House Potter. The majestic white phoenix had turned grey with soot, the corners frayed by fire.

And Ned remembered the words of the old song of House Potter.

_ And out of the ashes of death_

_ The phoenix again will rise_

_ For neither old nor young,_

_ The phoenix does not die._

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...


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